BTSTROLOGY

There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass. 

Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.

And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.

Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips. 

Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.

But surprise, it's not.

This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major. 

Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly. 

The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, pulsing through the frat house in uneven waves that settle through your body like a second heartbeat. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.

But you don't. Because, well, you can't. 

So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly. 

You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.

Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all. 

His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.

A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.

He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.

The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"

"Then clearly I'm busy."

The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."

"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her. 

"Do you ever take a break or is your case of over sexuality a medical condition?" Mingyu complains, drinking the beer he has just taken from Jungkook's hand as their shoulders bump into each other.

Jungkook finally pulls away fully, shifting closer to Mingyu. "You're obsessed with me." 

Mingyu scoffs. "Unfortunate for Seoul's female population."

"Guys," Yugyeom interrupts, looking up from his phone with a sudden delight on his face, as if the light from his phone's screen has traveled and bloomed again behind his pupils. "Wave posted." 

The reaction arrives in less than a second, because Wave had long stopped being just another anonymous campus blog sometime during sophomore year. It became something students enthusiastically refreshed during lectures, sent feverish screenshots to group chats at ungodly hours. Because everyone somehow grew to love Wave— until they became the subject of it.

Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, sparing a fraction of a second to recollect the exasperation in his heartbeat, inhaling slowly. "I swear if this psychopath wrote about me again—" 

Yugyeom's grin widens. "Bad news, superstar." 

"For fuck's sake." Jungkook mutters, snatching the phone away from Yugyeom's hand while Mingyu's laugh echos loudly from besides.

The familiar layout of wave flashes straight into his eyes, light blue and dreamy and so fucking pretty for a blog this cruel. Well, cruel would be an exaggeration, if you weren't Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh my god." Mingyu gasps. "Second paragraph is crazy." 

"Crazy accurate." Jaehyun corrects, reaching over Jungkook's shoulder to keep reading.

"This person needs psychiatric help." He says flatly.

"Mhm." Jaehyun hums, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that because you secretly agree with everything." 

Okay, you see, that's the problem with Wave. 

The issue had never really been the concept itself, because Wave has always been undeniably good. Jungkook can survive a day or two of public embarrassment. God knows he has spent the last two years of university building an almost concerning amount of immunity to people's uncalled opinions. The problem is that whoever it is that's sitting behind that stupid light blue website is unsettlingly gifted at noticing things they absolutely shouldn't. The tiny, quiet things people lock somewhere safe beneath their hearts and reveal only when they trust someone with their lives. 

It suffocates him sometimes, not that he'd ever say it like that.

"I'd rather die than agree with this hypocrite." He says instead.

Jaehyun nods dismissively. "Right."

The girl beside Jungkook leans over his shoulder, eyes laced with curiosity. "Wait, keep reading." 

"Use your damn phone." He shuts her off immediately, handing the phone back to Yugyeom.

Yugyeom grabs his phone in one hand while he shakes Jungkook's shoulder dramatically with the other. "Did you do something to this writer we don't know of?"

"Why are you acting like i personally asked to be publicly humiliated?" 

Mingyu shrugs. "Because you clearly enjoy it a little.

"I actually don't." Jungkook argues. 

Majority of the people around him dissolve slowly, disappearing into the crowd to find their own group of friends to gossip on the article that just got posted, leaving Jungkook with his own group of friends who unfortunately do not make up the IQ of a normal person even when merged together.

"Hey," Jungkook says like he suddenly remembered something so crucial, angling his body towards Jaehyun. "Have you seen Mark?" 

Jaehyun's brows pull together. "Thought he was coming later."

"He texted me like an hour ago." 

"Your secret little rendezvous?" Yugyeom asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jungkook scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."

Mingyu gasps dramatically. "You're cheating on us with the music major?"

"None of you are funny." Jungkook says, shaking his head once before letting his gaze drift around the kitchen while Mingyu and Yugyeom start arguing about something else entirely.

Then he spots you.

Oh. 

Jungkook knows you. Okay, he doesn't exactly know you, but he knows of you. Through Mark, through Yugyeom, through this and through that but never truly by heart.

You, with a face carefully designed by gods, standing there mindlessly as if you aren't the textbook definition of beauty itself. You, who'd without a doubt get his cock rock solid in mere seconds by rolling your eyes and laughing at how dumb he is. You, who'd pretend to not be fazed by him while very obviously blessing him with flirty smiles and inviting eyes.

You would be…mildly inconvenient for him.

"Why are you staring at her like that?" Jaehyun asks from besides him. 

Jungkook tears his eyes away immediately. "You're seeing things."

Mingyu laughs loudly, chiming in a beat later. "You literally are." 

"Shut up." 

"You don't even know her like that." Yugyeom adds, grinning. 

"I know enough." 

Jaehyun lifts his brows accusingly. "That is?"

Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it again in no time. Because somehow saying prettiest girl on campus who'd drop him to his knees by casually using words he has to mentally spell twice feels a little excessive for a girl he's never had a proper conversation with in his life. 

"Mark's friends with her, right?" He asks instead. 

Jaehyun nods slowly, a little suspicious. "Yeah." 

"Cool." Jungkook replies. And before any of his friends can say another word, he's pushing himself away from the counter and walking towards you. 

Mingyu gasps dramatically behind him. "Oh my god, he's approaching." 

"Act natural!" Yugyeom shouts over the music. 

Jungkook scoffs in exasperation, but he doesn't turn around, walking towards you as he flips them off by waving a hand behind. 

You notice him coming over almost immediately. Because Jeon Jungkook isn't exactly one to go unnoticed by many, and that sadly seems to cover you too. There is something annoyingly conspicuous about him, visible even in places that are so crowded you lose your friend within the bare minute of getting there. 

Maybe it's the broad shoulders, maybe it's the tattoos and the lip rings that usually wink at you before even he gets the chance to, or maybe it's the fact that everybody seems to orbit around him with a push and pull so heavy it feels like he's the center of gravity itself.

It's probably the shoulders. 

Miyeon, your gorgeous best friend, notices him too as his steps get closer and closer to where you are standing. Her lips twitch knowingly around the rim of her cup. "Well," She murmurs into her drink. "This should be interesting." 

Jungkook stops right in front of you before you can reply to your friend. "Hey." He greets easily. And annoyingly enough, his voice sounds exactly the way the rest of him looks.

You tilt your head slightly, half empty cup swaying between your fingers. "Hey yourself."

Jungkook blinks once before letting out a breathy laugh. "Oh, this is already going badly for me." 

Miyeon snorts into her drink, but you quickly nudge her arm before she says something she shouldn't. "I'm looking for Mark." Jungkook continues, gaze shifting back towards you. "Have you seen him?" 

"You're looking for Mark?" You repeat, cocking a brow. 

And for some reason, Jungkook's smile widens. "We were supposed to meet." 

The answer catches you a little off-guard. Not because Jungkook knowing Mark is strange. It's not, everybody knows Mark. But because there is something in the way he says it. He's saying it seriously, with intention. Like whatever they're meeting about actually matters to him and that's not something you can coherently place somewhere solid in your head.

"You sound committed to that." You say before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook squints his eyes. "I can commit to things."

You take a sip of your drink, taking your time with the action as your brows raise with something laced with accusation. "You sure?"

Jungkook's eyes widen just slightly as Miyeon turns away, trying to hide her laughter. But she cackles anyway. "That's crazy." He says, a loose grin forming on his face. "You know absolutely nothing about me." 

"You don't exactly strike me as somebody mysterious." 

"Yeah?" He breathes. "What do i strike you as?"

You roll your eyes, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. And whatever that happens in Jungkook's chest— it's deeply unfortunate. 

This is exactly his type, horrifically so. Pretty has never been an issue for Jungkook, he has been surrounded with pretty all his life. Pretty and mean, on the other hand, is apparently where the problem in his pants begin. 

But before either of you can continue, Jungkook's name is yelled from across the room. "There you are!" Mingyu shouts, throwing an arm around Jungkook's shoulders after he makes his way towards you. "Some girl is throwing up on Jaehyun's shoes because you disappeared." 

Jungkook closes eyes briefly, inhaling a long breath. "See? What's commitment if not that?" 

You laugh despite yourself, loud and real and so fucking pretty Jungkook thinks he might've forgotten how to breathe properly. 

"I'll tell Mark you were looking for him." You say. 

"Appreciate it." He says before stepping backward towards the kitchen, then pauses suddenly. "By the way," He starts, causing you to raise a brow. "You're prettier than your articles sound." 

Your expression freezes for a beat, lips parted and head still tilted. A lazy smirk dances on Jungkook's features before disappearing back into the crowd behind Mingyu, leaving you standing there with your drink still halfway raised. 

Miyeon slowly turns towards you. "What the fuck was that about?" 

Your eyes linger on the hallway Jungkook disappeared into, gaze floating like you've just wandered into an ocean with no trace of the start and end. Because no, you don't have an idea on whatever the fuck that was either.

Your phone buzzes before your thoughts can swallow you up any further.

namjoon: still awake?

Your eyes flick between the small digital clock on the corner and the text in the middle of your screen before your fingers move over the keyboard.

you: i'm at yugyeom's party

namjoon: you posted during a frat party?

You roll your eyes even though he can't see you, though you're sure he feels it behind the screen.

you: it was queued

namjoon: ah

namjoon: coffee at mine?

namjoon: you can sleep over

You lift your head at something Miyeon says, nodding your head without really listening to what she's talking about. You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, weighting your options before deciding to give in.

you: wow, the honor

you: on my way

The city feels different after midnight.

Maybe not quieter, because noise never really dies down on friday nights. People like to laugh, dance, live. Because modern time doesn't really allow love anymore. Because people spare friday nights for themselves and keep it tucked somewhere they know it belongs. Because people yearn to belong and time doesn't like to stretch and bend around desire. It just moves. 

The city feels softer, as if somebody reached over and mellowed the space so that everyone could find a place for themselves. At least, that's exactly the way you feel when your uber drops you off outside of Namjoon's apartment building twenty minutes after you leave Yugyeom's place. The clock is ticking past two in the morning, and by the time you make your way upstairs, your feet are aching and your social battery has officially ran out.

When the door opens, Namjoon greets you with that same old warmth you've had memorized for nearly four years— almost the entirety of your college years. He gives you a hug before disappearing back into the hallway, informing you of how the coffee is almost done. 

His place is dim except for the kitchen, where a warm light spills in and drapes over the entire apartment in a yellow hue. It always smells the same here. Not in a weird way, not at all. Just very…specific. It smells like books that have already been read at least twice and expensive coffee beans that are too niche for you to have any understanding of— because to the normal person, they all just taste the same.

Definitely not to Namjoon. 

You slip your heels off by the door, following him into the kitchen after dropping your purse somewhere on the couch. "Do you want to lose all the sleep left in your system?" You ask, gaze dragging over the empty coffee mugs on the counter. 

Namjoon stands in the kitchen with his back turned to you, dressed comfortably in some gray sweatpants and a dark colored hoodie. His glasses sit low on his nose, hair falling onto his forehead in messy strands. "I'm writing something." He says, a soft smile forming on his face as he pours in the hot liquid carefully. "How was the party?"

You climb onto the counter, plopping your body onto the marble as your legs dangle above the height. You unashamedly stare at him for a moment, taking in the sweats and the glasses and the fact that he somehow still looks put together despite the hour. Because Namjoon looks a little unfair like this— annoyingly intelligent and completely at home.

"It was loud." 

Namjoon hums, handing you the mug. "The alcohol was terrible, i spent the whole night trying to keep Miyeon away from Yugyeom, and someone cried in the bathroom after throwing up on the floor."

"Sounds typical to me." 

You take a sip of the coffee, then groan immediately because it's still too hot to drink, before setting it down with exaggerated annoyance dancing on your face. You trail behind him into the living room, pulling your legs beneath yourself as you sink into the couch while he settles right next to you with his laptop balanced over one knee.

"You're actually writing." You say, eyeing him over the rim of your mug.

"I told you." Namjoon says, giving you a brief glance before he turns his attention back onto the screen. 

Your eyes absentmindedly drift towards the screen of his laptop, floating over the margins that are filled with notes, sections that are highlighted, pages filled with comments and edits that are all very Namjoon. And for a second, for the entirety of a thousand milliseconds that feel way longer than it actually is, your own laptop sitting abandoned inside the void of your apartment suddenly feels eccentrically heavier. 

"My advisor hates me." 

Namjoon doesn't look up. "Did he say that?"

You sink lower into the couch, sipping your coffee slowly without forgetting to blow onto it. You can not burn your mouth again, not a chance. "No, but he looked disappointed." 

Namjoon sighs. "I know it sucks and you want to strangle him to the depths of death, but he just has high expectations from you."

You groan dramatically. "It's so annoying." 

Namjoon hums, nodding along as his eyes scan through the screen. "How's the thesis going?" 

That's when you gift him the pleasure of absolute silence. Because unfortunately, deeply unfortunately, somewhere along the way, your thesis and Wave started bleeding a little too much into each other and now everything feels way too personal and disgustingly intimate. 

Not entirely, of course. Wave is still just a tool for you to learn and observe without tracing everything back to yourself. But lately, it has started to feel a little less objective and a little more on the edge. 

You didn't lose the hang of it, not really. You're still the same girl writing with the same devotion for the same purpose. Just…there has been small slips here and there, noticeable only to people who know you well enough to search for them. 

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. "It's progressing." 

Namjoon's eyes drift towards you, and your gaze lifts until it catches his own in the air. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask when he stares at you for a second too long. 

"You don't sound too truthful." 

You scoff, then roll your eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it in his face. But being the man he is, Namjoon catches it without looking. Damn him. 

"You write about Jungkook a lot." He says suddenly. 

You shrug. "He's easy material." 

"You've written about him four times by now."

You pause, squinting your eyes as every piece of writing you've ever published in the last two years flashes through your eyes. Because there is no fucking way you've written about that tattooed excuse of sex on legs for four entire times. "Four?" 

"Four." He repeats. 

You drop your shoulders in defeat. "You're very unlikeable tonight." 

"I'm just providing you with my opinions." He says, typing while speaking. "You can't ask for help if you aren't going to take my advice." 

You pull your knees closer against your chest. "I don't ask for your opinions." 

"You called me crying over an econ elective last year." 

You sit up immediately, placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't entirely like that—" 

"I distinctly remember you saying, and i quote, what do i do now, Joon, my future is over." He states dramatically, voice disgustingly sweet and high pitched as he mocks you.

You stare at him, frozen and absolutely horrified. "I was vulnerable." 

Namjoon hums, and you let yourself fall backwards dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your face as if that's enough to physically protect yourself from embarrassment and humiliation. 

It doesn't, of course. Because nothing ever really preserves you from embarrassment when it's Kim Namjoon you're talking about.

A comfortable silence settles into the living room, allowing you drown yourself inside the small indicators of life around you. You can hear his keyboard clicking softly as he keeps working on something you have no idea about, the occasional scratch of the ceramic mug against the wood table, the faint jazz pieces playing from the speakers hidden somewhere further inside the apartment. And just as you were about to part your lips and make a comment on how his furniture is so outdated, he beats you to it.

"Oh." 

Your arm slowly lowers from your face, eyes squinting and peaking above it. "What?" 

"Are you still helping Mark with that project?" 

Oh yourself.

Everything in you physically stills, slowly and painfully, like dread is begging to be felt properly until your bones ache and sizzle with the weight of it. Because you— catastrophically, miserably, terribly; had forgotten all about it. Not in a small, oops, i should probably text him back way either. No, you had forgotten in a way that bordered on a severe case of friendship betrayal and negligence. 

You close your eyes, inhaling a long breath. "Hypothetically speaking…" 

Namjoon finally looks up. "You forgot, didn't you?"

You did, and of course he notices. Because if Kim Namjoon has spent four years studying journalism, he has spent six studying you.

Namjoon had become one of those people that had entered your life quietly yet stayed just as loudly, making himself impossible to imagine a life without in absolutely no time. Just like wine or Wave or the concerning amount of mediocre sex you've been having since your last boyfriend. 

You had met him during the first few weeks of your freshman year when he was already a junior and head editor of the university journal. Back then, he existed in your head less as a person and more as a terrifying academic urban legend you'd never admit looking up to. But you didn't have to admit it out loud, because even the older students spoke about him with an obnoxious amount of respect.

You hated him. 

But obviously, that didn't last long. As you kept sharing nights filled with stories, words and worlds no one knew existed besides the two of you, he started to matter. He'd remembered your exam dates, bought you coffee during finals, edited your essays at three in the morning. He'd answer your phone calls involving emotional breakdowns over electives and boys and broken sink pipes, then solve whatever crisis you were having in little to no time. 

So naturally, somewhere along the way, your editor had turned into an older brother and became annoyingly good at reading you— so much that you're sure he keeps a version of you that's all bare and vulnerable somewhere hidden in his furthest drawers.

Because he knows you. Good enough to notice the tiny moments where Wave feels a little too personal. To notice the way that sometimes, your thesis blurs into the rest of your life and you get caught up in the gravity of it all, so much that the project you'd promised to help with weeks ago somehow slips away from your mind despite Mark being one of your dearest friends. 

Because Namjoon doesn't forget, and Mark will definitely kill you if you don't show up at his studio with breakfast and two cups coffee by tomorrow morning. 

Musicians who are brave enough to lay their souls open between rhymes and harmonies have always felt intimate.

Music is vulnerable, always has been. Everyone knows that. But there is something utterly naked and personal beyond the in reach vulnerability of it all. 

It's the little things.

The version of them that existed on a random Tuesday in October, the argument they never really recovered from yet still shaped them into whoever they are today. The person they almost loved, the one they did love…They leave pieces of themselves behind between late nights and early mornings, and it never matters whether it's accidental or not. Because everything they touch transitions into something that carries their traces and that's enough to feel their souls on top of your own.

And, i think, that truly sums up Mark Lee as a person. 

Because Mark has always felt like someone composed of the little things. He'd attach songs to memories you won't realize matters until months later, respond to texts even if it wakes him up from his sweetest dreams. He'd turn feelings into poems and records then archive them in anything that's permanent. 

In college, people tend to think popularity belongs to the loudest person in the room. But despite being loved through the depths of the ocean until the very end of Milky Way, Mark Lee has never really been loud.

Just unforgettable. 

Three days later, you find yourself standing outside of Mark's studio with two iced coffees in one hand and a kind of resentment that's loud yet entirely unserious in the other. Because Mark has spent the last forty eight hours guilt tripping you through frantic phone calls and dramatic text messages. And you, for some reason, can not for the life of you bring yourself accept the fact that you've forgotten your promise and properly apologize.

At least you got the coffees. 

You push the studio door open without knocking, because Mark has never once respected your privacy and therefore doesn't exactly deserve it in return. As the door falls unleashed and sunlight spills until it drapes over you in a golden glow, there are a few things you expect. A Justin Bieber song Justin Bieber himself has probably forgotten about, unfinished coffees and half empty beer bottles scattered around the room, maybe even his ex girlfriend lounging somewhere in the corner because you're almost entirely certain Mark would slip straight back into her heart if she ever left it even slightly open. 

But Jeon Jungkook is not one of them.

He's sitting besides the mixing desk, leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck, one leg bouncing lazily beneath the table while he scrolls through something on his phone.

He looks up from the screen when the weight of your presence becomes impossible to ignore. He blinks once, twice, then smiles. 

Shit, he has dimples.

"Well," Jungkook says slowly, leaning back further into the chair as he drags his eyes over you. "This just got better than i expected." 

Your reply comes immediately. "No." 

Jungkook blinks, eyes widening just slightly. "I…didn't even say anything." 

"You thought of it." 

He cocks a brow. "Thought of what?" 

You roll your eyes, dropping your purse onto the table before leaning your hip against it. "You know what." You say, and he silently stares at you for a second longer before the corner of his mouth starts twitching. 

This doesn't make sense. Not at all. 

Because certain people feel attached to certain places long before they step into them. Mark belongs in studios and beneath the stars and somewhere right in the middle of your heart. Namjoon belongs beneath the warmth of yellow kitchen lights and homes that silence everything else until it's quieter than the rest of the world. Miyeon belongs anywhere between flowers and pretty cafes that somehow never match up to her beauty. 

And Jungkook…Jungkook belongs beneath flashing lights that paint his features in colors that would look good on nobody but him. He belongs in crowded spaces and with girls who lean in a little too close whenever he speaks. He belongs anywhere loud and alive.

Just not here. Because music feels too intimate for him somehow. 

"You know." He says after a moment, still smiling. "I thought there was a chance i imagined you." 

You let out a low chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest after placing the coffees onto the table. "That's a little dramatic." 

"I'm being dead serious." 

"Well, you approached me." You say, tilting your head slightly, letting your eyes drift over him before they return back to his face. "And you don't seem to have that strong of an imagination."

"You're mean."

You groan playfully, leaning your hip against the armrest of his chair. "That's so not true." 

A small smirk plays out on his lips. "Good thing i like my girls with a little attitude." 

Pardon? Your girls?

"You're being very brave today." 

Jungkook stares at you for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that's not rude, just playful enough to carry traces of something cocky beneath it. He lets the silence melt and sit right in the middle of your bodies for a beat too long, then speaks.

"You're flirting with me right now." 

Your head snaps towards him immediately, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Not because you're shocked. How can you be when he has built a whole persona on candied words and pretty girls and an ego that's definitely bigger than what's between his legs. It's because he says it so easily, and you hate that. 

So no, absolutely not. You, flirting with Jungkook? No way in hell. 

You narrow your eyes. "No, I'm not." 

"Mhm." He hums, swinging left and right in his seat with a growing grin on his face. 

Okay, no. That's enough. You're not doing this any longer. You don't want Jeon fucking Jungkook to think he has a chance at having you naked and open and wide on his stupid iron man mattress. You don't want to demonstrate the size of his cock with your hands when Miyeon asks on girls night, and you most definitely don't want Mark walking in on you bickering like two horny teenagers with the self control of fucking rabbits in heat. 

So you change the subject. 

"You sing?" Brilliant. 

And peculiarly, his smile softens a little at your question. Not drastically, not enough for the entire room to shift and bend around him until it's his breath only you're drowning inside. But it's enough. Enough for you to notice the way something gentler briefly peeks through before hiding again. And you, for some reason, find yourself reaching over and folding it carefully to hide somewhere safe amongst all the other precious details people accidentally leave behind. Somewhere only you carry the map of and know how to find again. 

Jungkook glances up. "Sometimes." 

Sometimes. 

It's funny how he says it, like it matters too much that his tongue can not carry the weight of it, so he just shrugs it off like it's anything. Sometimes, he says. As if Mark would ever involve someone who does it just whenever. As if Mark would ever reach for something that's sitting right in middle of his soul and hand out a piece of it to just anyone. 

"You look judgemental." He adds.

You shrug. "I'm just surprised." 

Jungkook's eyebrows lift at your answer, like he knows there is another thought sitting beneath it, quietly waiting for the permission to exit. But before he can get the chance to ask about it further, the studio door suddenly swings open. 

Mark walks into the room with an amount of rush that should be concerning for this time of the morning. His hair is messy, bag is tucked beneath his arm and an iced americano is trying to balance clumsily between his fingers as he tries finding a place to squeeze himself in.

"Okay, first of all. Traffic should be considered the worse case of masochism the human kind has done to itself." Mark rambles, barely waiting for the door to close behind him before speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth in consecutive complaints. 

"And you," He kicks the door shut with his foot before continuing, pointing a finger at you. "After forty eight hours of emotional neglect, show up with iced lattes? I don't drink lattes. That's for pussies who don't understand coffee." 

You roll your eyes. "I do something nice and you still complain." 

"You completely forgot me and brought coffee out of guilt."

You pause, looking down at the table before speaking again. "It's still coffee."

Jungkook laughs quietly besides you before Mark cuts in again. "Okay, so basically," He breathes, gesturing around the room. "This is my senior project, the one I told you about three weeks ago and you forgot because you apparently don't care about me anymore. It's a short film of my album with a narrative concept." He turns to Jungkook. "He's singing." 

Your eyes drift around in silence, taking in the headphones and the sheets filled with lyrics and the fucking sometimes he threw at you as if it meant nothing.

"And you," Mark angles his body towards you. "Are helping with the writing." 

"Mark," You argue, because what can you possibly be writing? Music? You don't do music. You write people, you write anything between stories and analysis but not music.

"Don't Mark me right now. You agreed to this weeks ago." He says as he rolls his eyes, chugging down his coffee. "The story. You're writing the narrative and the emotional structure, obviously."

Oh. Right. 

Because of course Mark wouldn't just make music. No, he has always been incapable of touching one art form without dragging five others to it. Because Mark Lee is a man of passion and he won't do anything without making it entirely his. 

"Apparently you said music without context feels lonely to Yoongi's trap arrangement last week." Jungkook says without really looking at you, swinging mindlessly in his chair. 

Your head snaps towards him. "How do you know that?"

Jungkook blinks once, like he hadn't expected to say that out loud yet did anyway. His eyes flicker between you and Mark before he collects himself back together and shrugs casually. "Mark talks about you." 

That's…annoyingly sweet of him. 

"You talk about me?" You coo with a voice disgustingly candied, head tilted as you reach for Mark's arm. 

"Oh my god." Mark groans dramatically, but he doesn't pull his arm away. "No, because Jungkook, don't let her fool you. She acts all nice and sweet then suddenly you're buying her food and driving her to places." 

You open your mouth immediately, ready to defend yourself. You turn towards Jungkook, response already on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled— only to stop.

Because Jungkook is already looking at you. Not in a weird way, not in the way boys usually look at pretty girls when they think nobody is noticing. Just…gentle. His smile is still there, only now it has grown and molded into something smaller. The kind that doesn't really ask for attention, the kind that simply stays there because it wants to. His eyes feel softer too, like's he's really listening, sitting through the spaces of your presence until he feels it permanently engraved into his mind.

It feels a little precarious. 

And perhaps the most annoying thing about Jungkook is that the disappointment never really arrives.

Because eventually, the conversation shifts and folds itself until time starts passing in a kind of haziness where it melts into something thinner. Mark disappears into one of his passionate spirals regarding symbolism and the basics of music theory and you somehow find a way to contribute just as passionately despite not exactly having the qualifications to do so. 

That's normal. That doesn't surprise you, it has happened enough times to not be the slightest of a deal. But Jungkook, Jungkook surprises you. 

Maybe not dramatically, maybe not in ways worth writing Wave articles about. It's the little things, tiny things that somehow fill in the entire space and make their way into the dearest corners of your heart. 

Like how he listens with his entire body, the way he turns towards whoever it is that's speaking and stays there, like he genuinely thinks people deserve to be heard all the way through. The way he never interrupts Mark despite the fact that Mark tends to over explain things as if he himself personally invented art and human emotion. The way he nods along quietly, asks questions at exactly the right moments without ever interjecting anyone and reaches over to hand you your drink when you start looking for it. 

And somewhere in the middle of the complexity of it all, Jungkook sings. 

Mark points towards the recording booth in the middle of his nth rant today, and Jungkook pushes himself up from the couch besides you with a small sigh before disappearing behind the glass doors of the booth. And for some reason, your eyes follow him through each passing second, because simply standing behind a microphone with overhead headphones should not look this different on somebody. 

Because suddenly, he's stripped out of everything you've subconsciously built for him. And for some stupid, sick, twisted reason, Jungkook looks ridiculously hot like this. 

He adjusts the headphones over his ears before leaning towards the microphone slightly, eyes lowering as Mark presses something on the screen. 

His voice happens a beat of two after the music starts, and it happens big. Like waves crashing into rocks, like starts falling down the sky, like spring melting into summer and summer clashing against fall. 

It's stupid. 

He's not bad, god, you wish he was bad. No, not at all. Because Jungkook sings exactly the way the listens. Softly, fully, like he throws himself into it before realizing he's doing it. Like somewhere in the middle of every rhyme and every note and every breath, there are pieces of him patiently waiting to be discovered. 

You understand why Mark chose him. 

Jungkook drops beside you onto the couch with a tired groan after Mark decides he's poured enough of his soul for today, and you find your eyes grazing over him as he scrolls through something on his phone. 

"You're staring." Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone.

You blink. Fuck. "Excuse me?" 

He hums, lips twitching beyond his control. "Mhm." 

You angle your body a little more towards him. "I literally wasn't." 

He nods, still not looking at you, but he's still smiling. 

You stare at his profile for a little longer as Mark works over the keyboard in silence, then find the words escaping your mouth before you can hold them in. "You sound different when you sing." You say quietly. 

Jungkook stills a little. Just a tiny, little falter that happens in his body. His eyes lift slowly from the screen, then catch yours before speaking. "Different?" He asks.

You shrug immediately, trying to fold the conversation into something drastically more casual. "Just less annoying." 

Jungkook laughs, shoulders shaking beside you. "Less annoying." He repeats, grin growing. 

You roll your eyes immediately. "Don't let it get to your head." 

"You know," He says after letting a beat pass, and you turn your head back towards him. "You say very mean things for someone who can't seem to stop staring." 

Your brows lift in offense. "I do not stare." 

He blinks. "You do." 

You scoff. "You're delusional." 

Jungkook hums softly. "Earlier, when Mark was talking—" 

You don't let him speak. At least, you try. "No."

"And then when i was recording—" 

"Jeon." 

He's fully smiling now, like he's getting the most ridiculous amount enjoyment he possibly can get from this. You stare at him in silence, lips parted and expression faltered. Jungkook stares right back at you, that stupid smile never really leaving from his lips. And for some sick and twisted reason, your stomach does a tiny little flip that irritates you through the entirety of your skin and bones. 

Then, as if god has finally acknowledged the depths of your suffering, Mark cuts in exactly at the right time. "Oh my god." He gasps. 

Jungkook blinks from next to you, gaze drifting onto him. "What?" 

Mark doesn't respond for a moment, and that's deeply concerning for a man who'd speak even at the verge of death.

You slowly sit up. "Mark?" 

His frozen state continues for a beat longer before he suddenly springs up from his chair. "No no no." 

"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks as his brows pull together, leaning onto his knees. 

"I," Mark starts, looking down at his feet before he slowly, dreadfully searches for your eyes. "I'm late." 

Jungkook scrunches his nose. "You're late for what?"

Your eyes widen when the realization slowly stretches then breaks through you. "Oh my god." You breathe dramatically. 

"Stop saying oh my god!" Jungkook snaps, thoroughly lost. 

Mark closes his eyes, taking in a long, guilty breath. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yerin." 

Jungkook's phone falls onto the couch. "You're meeting your ex?"

"You're late to meeting your ex." You correct. "And you're wearing that?"

Mark looks down, eyes taking in the gray sweatpants and the black hoodie he has worn so much it's practically another color now. "Oh my god." 

He quickly gathers up his belongings, then slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the door. He's able to take approximately three steps before he suddenly stops, and slowly, very slowly, turns to you.

"Can i take your car?" 

You blink a few times before responding. "Absolutely not." 

"Please," He begs, bending above his knees with impatience. "Please, I'll do anything. Imagine if she thinks i stood her up. She's going to leave me for good this time and I'll be left to crumble and die in my own sorrow." 

After two or five separate sequences of long inhales and deep consideration, you give in. "If you scratch it, I'll kill you."

He runs over to you fast. "Thank you, thank you. Oh my god, i love you." 

"Okay, okay. Stop." Before you even get the chance to return his hug, he's already grabbing your keys and shoving it into his bag. Jungkook stares from besides you silently until the very last second of Mark's departure, then bursts into laughter the moment the door closes shut. 

"Stop." 

"I'm trying." Jungkook says between fractions of laughter. 

You sigh. "No you're not." 

"I'm literally trying my hardest." 

Liar.

Because now, he's laughing properly and somehow it's the prettiest thing you've heard all week, minus his singing— which is a whole another problem of its own— and you feel yourself physically falter at the sound of it. 

You stare at him for a minute longer before eventually drifting your eyes towards the studio doors instead. It's irritating how you're now painfully aware of everything else all over again. Spring air brushing softly against your skin through the window, the distant sound of laughter and conversation somewhere across campus, the way Jungkook is seated close enough that if you shift half an inch closer your shoulders would probably brush. 

"So," Jungkook has finally, and thankfully, stopped laughing. Though the smile is still sitting there loosely. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, swinging them around his finger. "Guess I'm driving you home." 

You were about to mindlessly give into defeat when suddenly, you remember one, tiny little detail. 

Jungkook doesn't have a car.

You breathe slowly. "You ride that stupid motorcycle." 

His brows lift immediately. "That stupid motorcycle?" 

Your lips part, then close again when he cuts you off, lips twitching cockily. "You remember."

You scoff loudly. "You spent like twenty minutes talking about it." 

"Mhm." 

"And your personality is unfortunately very loud." 

"Mhm." He hums, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he mindlessly collects his things. "You remember." He repeats with a growing grin.

"Stop saying that." You complain, following him behind through the door. 

And ten minutes later, you hate yourself. 

Genuinely.

Because now, you're standing outside beneath spring air and bright streetlights while Jungkook straddles his motorcycle like this isn't singlehandedly the worst thing that has ever happened to you. 

Because suddenly you're surrounded by things you've never considered before. Like leather jackets and silver rings and tattooed biceps you want to suffocate and die inside. 

You don't tell him that, of course. 

He glances at you over his shoulder before slipping on his helmet. "You coming?" 

There is a moment where he is met with a complete, utter silence. Because, first of all, you've never been on a motorcycle before. And second of all, there is a very physical, very obvious problem with motorcycles. 

Where the fuck are your hands supposed to go? 

Jungkook watches the way something between conflict and irritation flashes across your features, expression faltering slowly. He pauses along with you, then smiles knowingly. "You've never been on one." 

And the way he says it is absolutely stupid. Because he doesn't ask, it's not a question. He has somehow read you devastatingly well and has made a statement about it. One that is entirely correct. 

"I have not." 

"And you're scared." 

Excuse you? 

You blink. "Scared?" 

Jungkook says nothing, then places both of his legs on the sides of the vehicle as he patiently waits for you. You stare at him for long enough, then with the amount of dignity one can preserve in situations involving pussy clenching tattoos and massive biceps, you walk over. 

"Need help?" Jungkook asks as you struggle deciding how to position yourself. 

You shake your head immediately. "No." 

Lies.

Because an entire thirty seconds later, you're still trying to figure out how people get on these things without publicly humiliating themselves. 

"You know," He starts carefully, voice softer now." "I can help."

You look up slowly. "How?" 

"Come here." 

Your eyebrows pull together. "What kind of instruction is that?" 

He sighs softly, calling your name. And for some stupid reason, the way your name rolls and falls out of his mouth does something irritating to your nervous system. 

You hate that. 

Because suddenly, the air feels warmer than it did thirty minutes ago. Because suddenly, he is patiently looking at you with those pretty brown eyes of his and the space between you feels so small that the lack of distance physically blows your breath away. 

He holds a hand out towards you. "Come here." He repeats. 

You stare at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. And for reasons you will absolutely be denying later, you place your hand in his.

Jungkook's fingers close around yours immediately. Warm, firm and unreasonably effortless, as if he doesn't even think about the action twice. 

He gently guides you forward and suddenly you're standing between his arms for one devastating second too long as he explains something about where to place your foot and how to balance and honestly—

Honestly, you don't hear a single fucking word. 

Because Jungkook is standing too close. Because his voice is low and his presence is warm. Because somewhere above you, he quietly lets out that sweet laugh again and you think that's the exact moment you realize this might be becoming a bigger problem than you ever thought. 

"You listening?" He asks. 

No, you're not. Not even a little.

Some men are just plain irritating.

The kind of men who make you think you're special after two dates. The kind of men who act as if their love and desire for you is past the lethal dose, long sitting far away from what's acceptable after taking you out for one drink. 

They start remembering your birthday, then your coffee order, and then the stories you tell absentmindedly. They pay attention in all the ways that matter until suddenly, they don't. 

They start disappearing slowly. Late responses transition into cancelled dates and cancelled dates drag over white lies and empty promises. And before you know it— they're gone. 

Some people become memories and some people insist on staying as habits. Unfortunately for Kim Yugyeom, habits are significantly harder to quit.

Campus looks a little prettier at night, with string lights tangled carelessly around trees to soften the sharp corners of concrete sidewalks and buildings that usually look painfully monotone and disgustingly gray beneath daylight. Music that's floating around blends into laughter and conversations until everything feels like it's dipped into something warmer, casting the green scenery in a dimly golden hue.

People become prettier at night too. Like darkness reaches over to soften and hide all the sharp edges daylight stubbornly insists on exposing. You think it has something to do with poor lighting and the desire to dress each other up in a way that's aligned with our own fucked up fantasies, but that doesn't change the fact that you'd much rather time stops at nine in the evening instead of morning.

Miyeon walks beside you with a cup of vodka and something fruity in her hand, complaining passionately about one of her professors as if he has something personal against her and is failing her out of spite. When, in reality, she has been way too caught up in toxic ex boyfriend drama and seasonal depression.

Anyone who says spring depression is not real is lying. Because your best friend has been going through one for the entirety of march and april and may and you're not sure if it'll pass by july.

But it's fine. You love her and Mark loves her and you're sure she will be fine. Yeah, maybe Yugyeom is six feet tall with a face carefully structured by the higher powers above us. But he's utterly stupid and completely undeserving of the crazy stupid love provided by your gorgeous best friend.

"No because explain to me why participation counts in my grade." Miyeon complains beside you, taking another sip of her drink as if she has the attendance and exam results to cover up the mess caused by her miserable participation grade. 

You blink. "Because participating matters?" 

Miyeon stops walking like you've offended her beyond all measure, then turns to you very slowly. "The institution has corrupted you." 

You let out a laugh immediately, shoulder bumping against hers as the crowd thickens around you. "Maybe your GPA is a little important and passing isn't always enough." You add with a playful smile. 

"You've changed." 

"Okay." You drag out the word until she physically can not hear anything after the o.

"Namjoon did this to you. You were fun and sexy until junior year and now you're a disgusting hard copy of that man." 

You scoff. "Leave Namjoon out of this." 

Instead of responding to you, Miyeon narrows her eyes through the crowd before you can properly defend both yourself and Namjoon's imaginary honor. Your eyes follow her line of sight without thinking too much of it, and you still just a second after Miyeon does. 

Because standing near one of the food trucks with drinks sat carelessly in their hands are Mingyu and Jaehyun. But that's not the point, Mingyu and Jaehyun are fine, you've actually shared that infamous econ elective with Jaehyun during junior year and he surprisingly turned out to be sweet and worth a couple hours of your precious time. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, is not ideal. But not ideal is also fine, you can bear with non ideal to an extent. What's thoroughly, completely, utterly impossible, is Yugyeom.

God truly does not love you. 

Miyeon physically freezes besides you. And, I repeat, she doesn't subtly falter. She stills. 

Then, Jungkook looks up at exactly the wrong moment, finding your eyes and catching them in air before anyone else gets the chance to steal them away. His eyebrows lift slightly in amusement before a smile slowly spreads across his face, and it feels a little concerning the way he does it. Because Jungkook smiles like he means it. Like the smile happens to him before he can realize and reconsider. 

His line of sight is followed before any of you can do anything about it. It starts with Mingyu, then Jaehyun. Which is fine, because we've already established that Mingyu and Jaehyun are harmless. 

But Yugyeom? Not even close. 

"Oh no." Mingyu says the moment he spots you. And honestly? Very fair reaction. 

Because unfortunately, Kim Yugyeom has always had an exceptional talent for creating versions of Miyeon you hate. 

Jaehyun lifts his drink awkwardly. "Hi?" Very brave of him. Very brave.

Miyeon smiles immediately, too animated and too polite, before you can even think of interfering and softening the impact of it all. 

"Hi Jaehyun." She says, tone too normal despite the situation.

"Miyeon," Yugyeom greets, voice casual and light like her name belongs naturally inside his mouth. Fucking hypocrite.

"You cut your hair." 

No.

No, you're not doing this right now. Absolutely not. Because, okay, first of all, what kind of thing is that to say to your ex girlfriend of two whole years? And the worse part of it all? Miyeon cut her hair three months ago. Three, entire, months.

Yugyeom blinks one whole minute after the words leave his mouth when no one responds to him, like the sentence leaves his mouth and arrives back to him sixty seconds later. But it's already late for realization. Too fucking late. 

A long silence passes, and you feel it physically sizzle and slice right through the surface of your skin. "Right." Miyeon mutters a beat later, and you close your eyes with a long, suffering inhale. 

Somewhere in the middle of the discomfort settling over everybody like a layer of second skin, you catch movement from the corner of your eye as if the situation isn't terrible enough. 

Jungkook, of course, is already looking at you. Because he seems to have made it into a habit. 

Miyeon laughs beside you. "Three months, by the way." 

Yugyeom falters. "What?" 

"My hair," She starts, letting her eyes drag over him. "I cut it three months ago." 

It's a little funny now. You know, the entirety of the situation. You do everything in your power to not stare at the two of them, gaze drifting around your surroundings instead. And it turns out that you, as of right now, are not the smartest person in the room. Because across from you, Mingyu suddenly becomes deeply interested in the swirl of his drink, and Jaehyun seems to be counting the birds in the sky. Jungkook? That, you don't know. Because you're sure he's still looking at you and that's the second thing your eyes are trying to avoid. 

"Right." Yugyeom says again, like saying right enough times might eventually make the situation right, even though it won't. Because none of you are stupid— well, except for Yugyeom himself, it seems. 

Then, Mingyu suddenly claps his hands once, and the sound echoes so much louder than he intended it to. "Okay!" He exclaims with an amount of enthusiasm that should genuinely award him an Emmy. "Amazing! Love this energy. It's so deeply casual." 

Miyeon laughs again, a little softer than the one she let escape minutes ago. It's not enough to bounce and spill and take over the atmosphere the way it usually does. But for now, it's enough to let you breathe.

"Sorry," She says through another laugh, shaking her head. "No because, you're unbelievable." 

Yugyeom squints. "What did i even do?" 

You scoff. Obviously, that's not surprising. Kim Yugyeom deserves a hundred more of those. But Mingyu and Jaehyun scoff along with you. And, oh, Jungkook too. 

Maybe society has hope after all. 

That's when you stop keeping up with their conversation, because their steps slowly get closer and closer to each other and farther and farther away from you until the volume of their voices lower down enough and exist only for the two of them.

Not that you're complaining. Not at all. You're thoroughly relieved and you do not want to hear another word of this pointless conversation.

Mingyu leans over and lowers his height next to you. "How traumatized are we?" 

You laugh, relaxing a little. "A solid eight out of ten." 

He places a hand over his chest dramatically. "Thank god." He exhales. "For a second i thought i was alone in this." 

You laugh again, and peculiarly, somewhere in the middle of cheap drinks and Mingyu defending his dignity like his life depends on it, your shoulders begin dropping one by one.

Everything softens after that.

Mingyu gets distracted after spotting somebody from one of his classes and suddenly starts passionately discussing basketball statistics with Jaehyun. Miyeon and Yugyeom slowly become figurines in your peripheral vision— still there, still existing, but further now. And somehow, Jungkook ends up right besides you. 

Maybe not intentionally, maybe not obviously— but he does. It happens in that natural way he seems to be very adamant on keeping recently. 

You become aware of him in pieces. The warmth of his shoulder besides yours, the sound of his laugh whenever Mingyu says something ridiculous, the traces of alcohol and masculine cologne in his scent whenever wind shifts in your direction…Tiny, stupid things people leave behind accidentally.

And unfortunately, you've spent your entire life collecting them. 

"You're less guarded tonight." 

You blink, then turn around slowly, eyes locking with Jungkook who is looking at you over the rim of his drink, a smile sitting loosely against his mouth.

"I'm always like this." 

Jungkook lets something between a breathy laugh and a scoff through his lips. "Liar." 

You roll your eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out." 

He shrugs. "I just pay attention to you sometimes."

Fucking flirt. 

You're only half listening to Mingyu's latest spiral on getting cheated on with a girl when Jungkook's phone vibrates against the grass. Jungkook glances down, picks the phone up, then groans when he reads whatever text that has been sent to him.

"What?" You ask.

"Mark," 

Your brows pull together in confusion. "What did he do?" 

Jungkook lets his head fall back slightly. "He forgot the hard drive at the studio." 

Jungkook stares at his phone for a beat longer, exhales, then turns towards you. "Come with me." 

And he is met with silence. Because for a moment, for a long, dreadful sixty seconds, silence surrounds you too. Music still continues behind you but it feels distant now. People laugh, lights glow, but all of it feels very far away. Solely because of the way he says it.

Because Jungkook doesn't ask. No do you want to come? No you can if you want. He just tells you to come with him as if he already knows the answer. 

You narrow your eyes, trying to play it off. "Is that confidence i'm seizing?"

"No." He says, smile growing into something gentler. "I think it's hope." 

Oh.

Jungkook pushes himself up from the grass, then extends his hand towards you. Not dramatically, not enough to create a whole deal out of it, but enough for your eyes to drop down to it automatically then back to him as if a hundred different scenarios have just flashed across your mind. 

You take his hand. 

By the time you reach the studio, you're a little warm. Not because of walking, not because of the weather, but because of something you absolutely can not say out loud. 

Jungkook pushes the door open, then lets you walk in first. Warm light spills through the room and reaches straight into your pupils the moment you step in, and you physically have to tap your thigh twice to recollect yourself back together. 

Space feels a little different when it's just the two of you. 

Jungkook walks ahead towards the mixing desk, still looking through his phone. "Mark said he left his hard drive somewhere." 

You hum, eyes drifting around. But it all feels absent, a little pointless. Because you're painfully aware of the tiny things all over again. Jungkook pushing his sleeves up, the way strands of hair falls into his eyes, how the sound of his voice fills in the empty room…

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's exhaustion, or maybe it's the way spring nights make people a little delirious. Stupid pollens.

You let a quiet breath escape and turn away before your brain decides to become any more humiliating than it already has tonight. "How does a music major forget a hard drive?" You ask, voice bouncing a little too loudly through the empty studio.

Jungkook shrugs. "It's Mark." 

Fair.

You snort quietly and drift towards the couch instead, letting yourself drop against the cushions while Jungkook continues opening drawers and moving papers around an unnecessary amount of concentration. 

For a minute, for the short time being, neither of you says anything. And maybe that's your first mistake. Because lately, silence with Jungkook has become as dangerous as vodka on an empty stomach.

Your eyes lift before you can stop them. That's definitely your second mistake. 

Because Jungkook had pushed his sleeves higher at some point and now his forearms are exposed beneath the dim lights of the studio and you miserably need those long, tattooed fingers curling inside your pussy. 

He crouches beside the desk, pushing his hair back before another strand immediately falls over his forehead again. "Found it." He says, and your head snaps back up.

Jungkook, unfortunately, is already looking at you. Not at the hard drive, not at the desk, just you. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Because maybe this is one of those moments where silence becomes too delicate for words. Moments that sit so carefully between people that speaking feels like touching glass with bare hands.

Your stomach tightens embarrassingly beneath your ribs as Jungkook's eyes drag all over you before they settle and stay on your face. He takes a step closer, then another, and then speaks softly. "What?"

Your brows pull together despite yourself. "What what?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep staring." He says, voice lower now. 

"And you don't?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper as you rise up to your feet. 

"I do." Jungkook replies. There is barely an inch between your bodies now, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "But i don't lie about it, pretty girl." 

Your entire body stiffens at that. But it's not the pretty girl, not at all. It's the way he says it. Because Jungkook doesn't rush you, he never does. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just stays there looking and waiting. Like he is giving you room, like stepping away is still an option. 

And the worst part is, you don't want to step away. 

Silence stretches and stretches until it begins feeling alive. His eyes drop down to your lips, then lifts back up. For one devastating second, Jungkook looks at you like he is trying to memorize something. Like he's collecting little things too. 

His hand lifts, thumb softly tracing over the line of your jaw. "I've been patient for so long." He speaks over your lips. "And i know you feel it too. But i need to hear your words if you really want this to happen." 

Your breath catches and flips over halfway through your throat, chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. "Jungkook," 

"Tell me," He starts, thumb stopping by the bottom of your lip. "If you want me as bad as i want you. Because— fuck, I've been good, i've been patient but i'm terribly desperate and i need to know if you are too."

"Please," You try, but you've already stopped thinking altogether. 

"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."

"Kiss me." You fit the entire weight of those words in a tiny little breath and Jungkook's lips are on yours in an instant. 

The kiss starts out slow, his lips moving against yours gently as if he is savoring every ounce of its taste on the farthest corners of his tongue. Your hands find the nape of his neck, pulling and pressing him closer until distance can't bear existing anymore. 

Jungkook's hands drop down to your waist, tugging you closer so that your hips clash against his. You whimper into his mouth, and he swallows it without wasting a single second. 

Because Jungkook has been waiting.

This isn't what the does, not at all. Jungkook has never been a patient man. Not with desire, not with girls. He takes and gets taken in blinks and fractions and seconds— easy, casual, weightless. 

But you, you've turned into something devastatingly different. Because for weeks now Jungkook has been wanting without touching, looking without taking— ever since you laughed and rolled your eyes prettily at Yugyeom's party that night. He has spent nights thinking about your lips, mornings replaying the sound of your laugh and entire conversations searching for traces of hidden meanings beneath your words like a man slowly losing his goddamn mind. 

Jungkook doesn't wait. He doesn't ache over girls. He doesn't sit awake late at night remembering the way they looked at him beneath dim studio lights or think about the possibility of their hands touching his. But with you— fuck. 

With you, he has become unbearably aware of himself. You've made him patient in the cruelest way possible. Because now he notices everything and god, the pretending has been killing him. 

And now you're kissing him back as if you've been just as gone. And that thought alone is enough to fold and mold his brain into something disgustingly mushy and achingly dizzy.

"More," You moan between kisses, body practically begging for his touch. 

Jungkook's stomach flips upside down. "Yeah? Want more, pretty? Want me to touch you?" He squeezes the plump meat of your ass through your jeans, and your hips jerk into his with the feeling. 

His hands roam all over your body before stopping right at the hem of your top. His fingers fiddle with the fabric before he pulls away to look at you properly, and you give him your consent dressed up as a weak nod. 

Jungkook pulls your tank top over your head, eyes stuck on the way your boobs bounce beneath the lace of your bra with the movement. He physically, loudly, groans at the sight before plastering wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin. Your head falls back in pleasure, hands tangling in his soft locks. Jungkook pushes his head further into your tits before he reaches over your back and unclasps your bra in one swift motion. 

Your ass hits the armrest of the leather couch when he lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth, fingers toying with the other. You moan in short, consecutive whimpers as his tongue laps and flickers over the hardened nub, the wetness in your panties growing and growing. 

His cups your pussy over the your jeans, fingers pressing into your core over the fabric. The pressure is utterly mind blowing because the course denim stretches and digs into you further, causing you to cry out in pleasure. 

"Touch me properly, Jungkook." You force out, desperate to feel him on your bare skin. 

Jungkook scoffs between kisses. "Greedy, aren't you?" 

He unbuttons your jeans, fondling with the zipper for a beat too long before he can unzip and get you out of it. 

He pushes your panties aside with two fingers before sliding them into you. Your cunt sucks him in immediately, already way too wet and way too impatient for any form of foreplay. 

Jungkook tilts his head to look at the way his fingers are slipping in and out of you. "Shit, pretty. Look at that. You're gripping me." 

"Jungkook," You cry out, hands curling around his biceps for support. "Need— need your cock, please." 

He lifts his eyes up to look at your face properly, then sketches and carves every line of your expression onto the deepest corners of his heart. 

He slowly pulls out his fingers, then draws circles on your swollen clit before pulling away to take off his own clothes. His shirt flies away first, and you can't help but gawk at the bare sight of his chest. Arms, shoulders, abs— you're lucky if you don't cum right then and there. 

He gives you a small, knowing chuckle before unbuckling his belt, tossing the jeans somewhere across the room along with his boxers. Your lips are parted beyond your knowledge, eyes stuck on the hardened sight of his length. 

You've never seen a cock as pretty as that.

You're not sure if you'd ever even thought a cock was pretty— because usually, to you, they're far from that. But Jungkook, god, Jungkook is so fucking pretty with a tip so pink you think you want to suckle on it like a lollipop and a length so massive you desperately want it to choke you. 

You wouldn't be mad if your cause of death had suffocated on cock written on it all uppercase in bold letters. 

And Jungkook just laughs. He fucking laughs. 

"Don't worry, pretty. It's all yours." He says, kissing your lips once more before motioning to turn over. "Now turn around and bend over for me." He adds, pushing your back lightly so that you're completely bent over with both hands gripping on the armrest of the couch. 

Jungkook drags his tip across your folds, spreading your slick all over your cunt before he slowly pushes it in. You feel his tip first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth of your walls. You moan loudly when he presses half of his cock into you, fingers firming around the cushion. 

"Oh god," You breathe, uncontrollably pushing your ass higher into the air. He slams in the rest of his length at your movement, and your back arches even deeper. "Fuck, Jungkook. You're so— so big. I can't."

"You can, princess. I know you can. You'll take every inch like a good girl. Gonna make me proud, aren't you?" 

He completely slides out out slowly, and before you can whine at the emptiness Jungkook slams himself back in. You moan loudly, head empty and thoroughly dizzy. 

Jungkook starts fucking into you, one had gripping firmly onto your waist as the other toys with your nipple from the back. He is filling you up so good you're going to lose your goddamn mind. You feel so full, stretched and stuffed to the fucking brim. Your walls suck him in desperately, walls clenching and tightening around his fat cock as he pounds into you recklessly.

"Yes, fuck. Wanna be good for you." You mutter messily as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, cock twitching inside your wetness. 

"I'm close." You breathe. 

"I've got you." He says, and you hate how assuring the words sound. 

You let yourself go just as he starts playing with your clit from behind, stimulating you as you milk your juices around his cock. He helps you ride out your high, chest pressing onto your back as he plasters small, reassuring kisses on your shoulder.

You feel physically nauseous at the domesticity. 

"Switch with me." You say after coming down from your orgasm, straightening as his cock slides out of you.

Jungkook's body falters, brows pulling together. "What?"

You roll your eyes, pulling away. "Sit, Jungkook." 

Jungkook somehow obeys without another word, dropping his body onto the couch beneath you. You hold his shoulders from above, placing your legs at both sides of his hips before reaching for his cock. 

Jungkook's breath stutters when you take him into your hand, pumping him a few times before aligning him with your entrance. You slowly sink down onto his length, and you both moan simultaneously when you take every inch of his dick into your pussy. 

"Shit," He moans, your name dancing prettily on his tongue. "You're so hot." 

His fingertips dig into the soft skin of your hips, head thrown back lazily as he moans through parted lips. You bounce on his dick with every ounce of energy that's left in you, thighs aching as he twitches inside your walls. 

Jungkook lifts his head a little to properly take in the sight of your bouncing tits, nearing his high. 

"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy. Your stomach churns at the question, nails scratching his broad shoulders. 

"You can cum inside." 

He's going to die. He is going to fucking die but at least he'll die a proud man with his cum stuffed inside you. 

And just as Jungkook was about to close his eyes and release inside you, your phone rings.

His lips part to say something, but you beat him to it. "Just shut it off." 

Jungkook's hand weakly finds your phone, pressing the close button twice without looking at it. Of course he doesn't look, he'd be insane to drift his eyes away from the way your soft, perky tits are bouncing up and down in his own hold. But the ecstasy lasts so long as fifteen seconds until your phone rings again.

Jungkook flips it over this time. The name on your phone's screen flashes right through his eyes and he feels his heart stumble and drop straight into the rock bottom of his stomach

joon <3

“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.

You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.

Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.

And for a while, you did.

The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.

You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished. 

Independent. Adult.

Until the coffee shop let you go.

Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.

You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.

Only they never called back.

Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.

“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”

Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.

“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”

A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.

You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.

“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”

Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.

A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.

“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”

“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”

You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.

“Hari!”

“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”

You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.

The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.

You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.

But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.

Hari hated that.

As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.

You declined every single invitation.

Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.

That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.

But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.

Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.

Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”

“Wait, wait—look at this!”

Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”

You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.

mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together

“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”

The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.

Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.

“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”

She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”

Another laugh escaped you.

Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.

Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.

You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.

But life eventually became busier.

School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.

You guessed you had simply grown up.

Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.

Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.

“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”

Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.

Nearly thirty million.

“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”

You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.

Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.

“That means…” she trailed off.

“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.

“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.

Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.

Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.

He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.

The thought alone felt ridiculous.

“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”

Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.

You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.

-

You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.

Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.

She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.

No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.

After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.

Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.

You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.

What the fuck.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.

What the actual fuck?

“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”

You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.

Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.

She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.

Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.

The realization alone nearly made you pass out.

And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?

You almost laughed and cried at the same time.

It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.

Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.

And then she started lying. Blatantly.

Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”

Cinematography my ass.

“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”

“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”

Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.

Hari only laughed harder through the call.

“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”

“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.

“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”

You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.

The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.

Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.

That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.

Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you. 

You. The probability alone felt absurd.

Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.

At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.

Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.

Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.

And oh.

Oh, he had changed.

A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.

You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.

Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.

A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.

You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.

“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”

Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”

Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.

Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.

Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.

mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”

also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together

don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol

for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered. 

send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”

The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.

And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.

You felt sick.

But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.

So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.

You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”

You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.

Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.

You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone. 

i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.

my contact details are below, thank you so much!

The message was sent instantly.

You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.

Yeah. You were doomed.

-

“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.

The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.

Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.

Your plane ticket? Booked.

Hotel room? Paid for.

Transportation? Arranged.

Food allowance? Included.

All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.

Easy.

“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.

Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.

Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.

Equipment. So much fucking equipment.

Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.

Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.

Your eyes widened even more.

For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.

But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.

Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.

You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.

Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.

If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.

The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”

You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.

“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”

You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.

You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.

You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.

You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.

The pacing of his vlogs.

The soft cinematic filters.

The random zoom-ins.

The casual, natural feeling of the clips.

You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.

And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.

“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”

You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.

You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.

At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.

Tomorrow was your first official filming day.

According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.

And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.

Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.

No pressure.

You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.

The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.

And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.

But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.

Not after the cover letter.

Not after the hotel.

Not after the plane ticket.

Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.

So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.

Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.

You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.

The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.

Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.

Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ

there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol

take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))

You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.

His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.

You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.

You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha

good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!

The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.

Why did I sound like that?

Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

You physically covered your face with your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt. 

Or maybe… just a little bit.

Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.

You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.

Working for Jungkook.

Texting Jungkook.

Meeting Jungkook.

It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.

But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.

Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.

So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.

Testing the cameras.

Learning the settings.

Adjusting lighting.

Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.

You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.

And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.

You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.

After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.

A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.

A knock sounded at your hotel door.

“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”

You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.

Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.

Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.

You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace. 

The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.

Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.

Oh God. This was actually happening.

The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.

And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.

Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.

You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.

The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.

Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.

No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.

Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.

Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.

Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.

Good.

Less witnesses for your downfall.

You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.

It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.

Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.

“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”

A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.

Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”

You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.

“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”

You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.

Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.

He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm. 

Your brain short-circuited immediately.

Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.

The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.

You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.

“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.

Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.

He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.

His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.

You were absolutely screwed.

“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”

No pressure.

As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.

He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.

“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”

You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.

Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.

“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”

You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”

Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”

The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”

Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.

You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.

At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.

His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.

The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.

Then the stillness between it all.

Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.

You practically documented his entire existence.

At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.

You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.

From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.

But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.

At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.

Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.

But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.

Beginner.

The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.

By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.

You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.

Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.

“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.

His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.

You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”

He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.

But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.

Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.

The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.

And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.

Was he disappointed?

The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.

You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.

The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.

And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.

He trusted you.

Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.

That part stayed with him longer than it should have.

A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.

But yours stood out somehow.

Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.

He understood that kind of desperation.

That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.

He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.

But still—

Maybe you lied just to get close to him.

Maybe you wanted the money.

Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.

God knew he had already met far too many people like that.

But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.

Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.

The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.

You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.

Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.

And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.

Something dangerous.

Something mean.

Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.

He wanted to punish you for it.

Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.

Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.

He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.

And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.

Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.

“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.

Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.

“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”

You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.

Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.

Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.

That had to be it.

Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.

The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.

Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.

“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”

You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.

Where exactly was he taking you?

The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.

You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.

He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.

“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”

The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.

“Take a guess.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.

You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.

By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.

Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.

Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.

You were scared.

Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.

Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.

“Jungkook, I—”

But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.

He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.

You blinked in confusion. Huh?

Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.

Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.

“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.

Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.

“Sit on the bed for me.”

Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.

You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.

With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.

The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.

Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.

Hotter too.

You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.

He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”

“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.

This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.

And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.

To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.

You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.

You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.

Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.

Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.

He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.

“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment. 

Of course you forgot the microphones!

Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.

Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.

The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.

“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”

“Test the cameras?”

“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.

And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.

Fuck. 

He knew.

Of course he knew!

Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.

You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.

God, this was so embarrassing.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”

He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.

And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.

You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.

His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.

Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.

And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.

“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”

Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.

“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.

“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.

The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”

“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”

Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.

But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.

Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.

He wasn’t yelling at you.

He was giving you another chance.

And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.

Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.

Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.

Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.

So slowly, you nodded.

Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.

“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”

Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”

Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.

His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.

You glanced around quickly toward the setup.

The two cameras mounted on tripods.

The camcorder in his hand.

“There’s three,” you answered softly.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.

“Now look here.”

You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.

The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.

He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.

This is just a demo.

He’s teaching you.

Nothing else.

“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.

Your eyes widened instantly.

Did I hear that right?

“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.

And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.

“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”

The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.

You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.

Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.

“That’s it.” he encouraged.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.

He’s filming a sex tape.

You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.

Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.

But the way he looked at you— God.

It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.

“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.

You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.

Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.

The room felt smaller now. Heavier.

You were getting so wet.

Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.

“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”

Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.

You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.

“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”

You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.

When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.

He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.

“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”

You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.

He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.

You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.

You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”

You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.

The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.

His pretty little doll.

He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”

With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.

You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.

“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.

You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.

He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”

His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.

His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.

You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”

With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.

“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.

You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.

“Jungkook~” you whimpered.

He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.

“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.

You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.

“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.

It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.

He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.

“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.

He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.

“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.

“I’m gonna-’’

You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.

When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.

‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.

His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.

Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.

“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.

“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.

He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.

“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.

He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.

You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.

“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.

You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.

“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.

He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.

At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.

Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.

His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.

Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.

He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.

“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.

Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.

“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.

You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”

He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”

You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.

He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.

You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.

“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.

“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.

His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.

So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.

When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.

He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.

“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.

You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.

“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.

“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.

His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken. 

“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.

He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.

“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.

He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.

The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.

“Moan louder.” he commanded.

You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.

He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.

Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.

A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.

He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.

“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.

“Yes.” you replied weakly.

You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.

“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.

You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.

"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.

The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.

He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.

“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”

The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.

“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.

He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.

“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.

He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’

His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.

“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.” 

Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.

"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."

Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.

''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.

You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.

A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.

He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.

When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.

“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.

"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.

“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.

He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.

“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”

With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.

The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.

“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.

“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”

“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.

Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”

“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.

“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”

You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.

The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.

“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.

He noticed immediately. Of course he did.

A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”

He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.

Retake.

Oh. He was definitely keeping you.

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